Forgotten First Kiss

Not me.

I rode my bicycle downtown to the gym. I’d have to tell Tennille as soon as possible that I’d miss the showcase, and I needed to tell her face-to-face.

No Tennille. One of the assistant teachers had the seven-to-nine-year-old class well in hand. I walked out back to the employee parking lot to check for Tennille’s car.

A dark form moved in the bushes at the far edge of the lot. My spine tingled.

“Who’s there?” I called. “No one is allowed back here. This business property is a designated safe space for children. If you don’t come out and identify yourself immediately, I’m morally obligated to call the police.”

Nothing. I waited a long time. Still nothing. And no Tennille.

I went back inside, but a few minutes later, I went to the back door again—just to be certain.

Instead of a creepy creepster in the parking lot, there was a huge bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. I stooped and picked it up. It had to weigh ten pounds, if not more. Either the vase was lead crystal, or I was weak, or … Ooh, there was a card.

Because you missed the last flowers of summer.

I held the vase out, looking more carefully at the bouquet.

Wow. Every single one was a summertime-only flower. No autumn flowers in the bunch, not even a chrysanthemum. How amazingly sweet of someone to …

Wait a second. Who had left this? And was it for me?

“Tennille?” I marched the bouquet into the gym, where Tennille was near the front desk, shrugging out of her denim jacket. “Did your husband send these?”

“Liam doesn’t believe in cut flowers.”

How sad. “Does he not understand women?”

“Oh, he’s all right. It’s just he holds this odd belief that cut flowers are a symbol of death, and he’d rather plant me a rosebush or a flowering tree or whatever. No roses in a vase from Liam. They must be for you. Who’s sending you flowers?”

“Someone who knows I missed the last half of summer.” And who understood what that meant for me. “It’s sweet, but also …”

“It’s Jeremy Hotston.”

“Jeremy Hotston could never afford a vase of flowers this size. He went off and joined the army. He’s probably on infantry pay. They’d never promote anyone like him.”

Tennille rested on the counter and put her chin on her hands, batting her eyes. “Unless they saw him in his uniform and the commanding officers were all women.”

“He’s not that attractive.” It was a good thing that my body hadn’t been possessed by Pinocchio while I was temporarily insane, or he and I would be having nose problems right now. Jeremy Hotston—according to my photographic evidence—was incredibly attractive. Like, melt-my-inhibitions gorgeous.

“Well, he’s also not that broke, either.” Tennille pushed off the counter and moved to take some files from a stack near the phone. “I heard from someone who heard from someone else that he got out of the army and became a businessman, and that his business in the city is doing really well.”

“Is he a drug dealer, or something?” People who called themselves businessmen in enigmatic terms like that were rarely doing something aboveboard. “Or worse? Is he an attorney defending drug dealers?”

“Real estate. Medical practice brokering, to be specific.” She whipped out her phone. “You know, we should just verify.”

Oh, no. I was not going to stoop to the level of doing an internet search on the guy. My shoulders bunched up at the idea. “Stop it, Tennille. He’s not an object.”

“So, you do admit to objectifying him.” She gave a playful grin. “Oh, fine.” She put away her phone. “I’ll just wait until curiosity burns you up—once I’ve told you I heard he made a nine-figure profit on a deal late this summer before he disappeared from the real estate landscape in Reedsville. We know where he was, but the rest of the world was missing him. Is missing him, I should say.”

Every single factoid from her mouth was like a round of gunfire from an automatic weapon. They pierced me one by one, sinking deep into me, painful, each bit something I desperately wanted to reject.

“You’ve got to be mistaken. This is Jeremy Hotston we’re talking about. The guy couldn’t hold down a minimum wage job, let alone manage big negotiations like that. It’s got to be a mix-up. There has to be another Jeremy Hotston.” It wasn’t a completely uncommon name.

“Uh-huh.” Tennille sauntered off to help the assistant coach wind up the rest of class.

I still hadn’t given her the bad news about my upcoming trip to Reedsville to be with Angelica. I waited until she’d done what she needed to, and when she came back to the desk, I launched.